I may not keep this blog in this format much longer. The things that I have been writing are so personal, I just can't imagine continuing to publish them to the world. These days, I do feel that I am passing through a narrow, uncharted, and intriguing channel in my life. It reminds me of a canyon we passed through during a river rafting trip in Costa Rica, on the mystical Rio Pacuare. As we floated through this narrow canyon—thirty feet wide and maybe 150 feet high—we jumped out of our rafts and floated in the silty brown water. I commented at the time that if we were in a movie, some creature would probably loom up out of the water and nab us! I feel much the same about my life now. I am in uncharted waters, passing through a point of potential which is both beautiful and fearsome. I have felt sure, over the past few days, that I have behaved in a more consistent, cohesive way than ever before in my life. I think as I have relinquished control over all the personality artifices I'd created to "protect myself" over the years, my personal energy has been allowed to remain at my core, to nourish my true spirit. This reminds me of some lessons about gardening I had learned recently. Writing all this is helpful to me regardless of whether it is read, of course, but my secret hope is that a few people will read it and in some way benefit as well. After all, on the Rio Pacuare, I didn't float through that channel alone.

Reading my previous entries now is very strange. It's difficult to believe I wrote some of them. Many of them make me cringe. I feel like deleting them, but I've decided to keep them here. After all, they reflect the path my life has taken. I am home in Southern California now, my visit to San Francisco cut short by the exponential and devastating realization that I was living too fast, thinking too little, and feeling almost nothing at all. This has happened before, but rarely have I gained so much insight from my wayward behavior so quickly... although I have to say that I am still reeling from the experience. Far more than ever before, it is clear to me now the things I have to do to address the attitudes which seem to fuel this behavior. I'll wait to discuss the details later, but I will say that the process involves admitting—finally—that I can't control everything in my life, and that the key to happiness lies not just in myself, but in others, and in a power greater than myself. I can never completely know or control what lies ahead. Just realizing that is a huge step. Fully accepting it may take a while.

Well, another trivia night has come and gone, and another second place finish has been secured. I'm starting to like second place. I think I'm beginning to understand Dick Cheney a little better. So, again, we were rewarded with more beer, just when a little beer was what I needed. It's been tough finishing up the Costa Rica website in the past few days. I've worked almost continuously on it, except for eating, sleeping, and reading. But the result is really good. Hard programming and hard drinking are not going to lead me to the life I want, though. I think some moderation is in order, and a little more social delicacy. What? You thought programmers were refined? Find the entry for "Computer Guy" under "Music".

For Memorial Day, I accepted an invitation from a nice guy Tony, who I'd met at Matt and Kristin's Costa Rica reunion dinner, to join a BBQ party at his place. It was a great mix of people, including Matt, Kristin, Linda and Wendy from the Costa Rica trip. I had a great time. I had brought up from SoCal a large, hand-made Italian sausage from Sabatino's. I was supposed to bring a dessert, but when I saw this at Sabatino's, I thought it would be fun to have at the BBQ. I was going to say that this was the dessert I had in mind. Well, it turned out that Tony already had more than enough to grill, so we didn't even get to the sausage. Nonetheless, it was a good conversation piece, and Tony could have some nice sausage for dinner tonight if he wanted.

I decided this morning to fly back down to Orange County to get my car. I flew out of Oakland, so I took BART from the Montgomery St. station out to the Coliseum, and AirBART in to the airport. When I finally arrived back here at my house, though, the sensation was not what I expected. Although this place is so familiar to me, I didn't have the feeling of going home. I'm not sure San Francisco is home yet, either, but I do feel as though I have moved on from where I was, both physically and emotionally. What the end result of that will be is hard to say. This trip has come at a time of some emotional intensity, so in many ways, it was good for me to leave the city. But I look forward to driving back tomorrow. I think I have had some important insights during this trip. The days ahead should be very interesting.

Well, again, the trivia gods didn't exactly smile their biggest, whitest smile on our team. Team "Reserved" was in the lead going into the final round, but was eventually bested by one point, leaving us tied for second. Like last week, we received a round of drinks instead of the much-sought-after $30. We decided to postpone the prize until next week—so we will start off the night next Wednesday with two full pitchers of beer. It's not that I don't like beer—it's just that I'd rather be a sober winner than a drunk loser!

San Francisco's Museum of Modern Art, or MOMA, is, according to their brochure, "the only museum in the western United States devoted to collecting and exhibiting the full scope of modern and contemporary art." After visiting for a few hours this afternoon, I believe it! I don't know much about Art, and less about "Modern Art," but this museum does a good job of presenting important works in a way that is educational and accessible, whether you're a scholar or just a tourist, like me. Some of Andy Warhol's famous images of celebrities like Elvis and Liz Taylor were familiar, and an area dedicated to design highlighted the work of Yves Béhar, who I'd never heard of, but who has collaborated with companies like Toshiba and Birkenstock. One case held an original NeXT Cube—a computer quickly fading from memory. My favorite painting looked like a black canvas, maybe 6 feet tall by 3 wide. But upon closer inspection, it was made up of large rectangles which had a very faint tint. One of the most unusual was a set of three large white canvases painted in 1951. The painter left instructions for them to be repainted white as needed—and they have been several times! So, it was an interesting visit to an important museum. What did I learn? Not sure. Maybe it will come to me in a dream tonight.

Since I will be attending the 2004 Olympic Games in Athens this August, I wanted to write an entry about a man who some consider to be the greatest Olympic Champion of all time. He was named Milon of Kroton, from a town in Italy now known as Crotona. In the fifth century B.C., this city was a part of the Greek civilization. Milon of Kroton won his first championship in boy's wrestling in 540 B.C. He went on to become champion five more times in men's wrestling. This is the greatest span of time anyone has remained Olympic Champion. Milon was legendary for his strength. It is said he trained by lifting a calf every day until it became a bull. My favorite story about him shows that he had not only strength but control as well. He would hold a pomegranite in his hand and challenge anyone to extract it. After everyone had failed, he would release the pomegranite, which was unharmed. To me, this illustrates the importance of control in any application of strength. Unfortunately, Milon of Kroton died a fairly inauspicious death. He found a tree that had been half-chopped down with iron wedges holding it open. He thought he could fell the tree with his own strength, so pulled the wedges out, but his hands were caught. He was stuck there for days, and was eaten by wolves. I guess strength needs wisdom as well as control.

The Haight is a bohemian neighborhood, suitable for foreigners. And so it was that when Hilary took me to the Haight, to meet up with some friends of hers, the group included several foreigners. Two were notable. One was a Russian man with a common, forgettable Russian name. He rode a motorcycle and seemed particularly amused by tiresome, childish parlor tricks. Another was a cranky, unremarkable Frenchwoman whose disdain for Americans was as thinly disguised as Britney Spears' marketing plan. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting these charmless foreigners in the heart of America's most magical city. The sonorous jazz quartet playing nearby didn't fluster these visitors much, though I'm sure their enjoyment was limited by their feeble sense of irony.

OK, so the analogy is a little strained, but today I met a regular guy who has become an instutution around San Francisco City Hall. After lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant with Shawn and Deb, I decided to take the regularly scheduled guided tour of the impressive San Francisco City Hall. The docent leading the tour had me sign in, and when 2:30 rolled around, there were no other people on the list. So it would be just the two of us. This man's name was John Taylor. Probably in his mid-70's. He had a kind nature and a dry wit. It was especially nice learning the history of the building one on one, so that I didn't feel inhibited in asking him any question that came to mind. And he always seemed to know the answer, or have a funny story. Near the end of the tour, he offered to show me the only room that had been added during the recent earthquake renovations of the building. It was the John Taylor Committee Room. I asked if there was any relationship between the name of the room and the name on his badge. He chuckled and admitted there was. He had served as the clerk for the head of the Board of Supervisors for many years. Another of his proud connections to the building was the fact that his daughter was married inside, by none other than Mayor Willie Brown himself. I truly enjoyed my tour of City Hall, and I'll never forget John Taylor!